


When the Pain Stops

by geckogirl7



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Burns, Fainting, Fluff, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Human Disaster Clint Barton, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, I just couldn't come up with a fluffier title, Sick Clint Barton, Stabbing, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Whump, no one dies or anything, the title sounds kind of dark but it's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckogirl7/pseuds/geckogirl7
Summary: Clint Barton knew a lot about pain given the fact that he got injured a lot. Like, a ridiculous shit ton of injuries. But the only good thing that could be said of pain was the moment when it stopped. That sweet moment of relief after the suffering. It’s that moment, when you’re finally free from pain, that makes you appreciate the pain-free state that we often take for granted.Five Times Clint Barton got hurt or injured and the wonderful moments the pain finally stopped, plus one time he actually didn't get injured.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 129





	1. Stab Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets stabbed. What else is new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally had some time to write something other than things for school! This fic is pretty much finished, so I'll be posting regularly. It's not long, but I had fun writing it! 
> 
> Warnings for language, blood, stab wounds and fainting in this chapter.

He had lost count of the number of times he had been stabbed, but that didn’t mean it sucked any less when it happened. At least this particular stabbing wasn’t life threatening, no major arteries or vital organs hit, but man did it hurt like a bitch.

Luckily, he had managed to block the knife aimed at his throat. Not so luckily, he had blocked it with his arm. Clint checked the makeshift bandage wrapped around his upper arm and grit his teeth. The initial shock and adrenaline had worn off, and now his arm was alternating between stinging and shooting pains.

“Clint, do you copy?”

“Copy.”

“Medical should be there within fifteen minutes,” Steve calmly stated over the comms.

“Got it.”

“How’re you doing?”

“Ummm, I mean I’ve been better…”

Clint could practically hear Steve rolling his eyes.

“I mean how are you doing medically?” Steve patiently asked. “Is there a lot of blood loss?”

“No, I think I’m good. I’ve got a makeshift bandage keeping pressure on it.”

“Bruce is still down,” Steve said regretfully.

Bruce could get to Clint a hell of a lot quicker than a medical team. But Hulk had taken a pretty big hit and Bruce had passed out immediately after changing back. The best thing to do was let him sleep it off.

“I’ll be fine man. It’s not the first time I’ve been stabbed,” Clint replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

But he could feel his body slipping. He felt cold and was sweating. The pain in his arm was radiating and felt bone-deep. He knew he wasn’t bleeding out or anything, but he still felt like shit.

“I’m here with you. The medics should be there any minute,” Steve said calmly.

Clint took a deep breath. His whole body was tense as he tried not to focus on the pain in his arm.

It has been a serrated knife, so he knew it had fucked him up somewhat. His light armor had provided some protection, so he was pretty sure it didn’t slice his muscles up. Although it sure fucking felt like it. He stifled a groan.

“Clint? You still with me?” Steve asked, sounding worried.

Shit, apparently, he hadn’t stifled the groan.

“Yep. Still here.”

Clint used his good arm to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. He teeth were starting to chatter and he was shaking.

He had been stabbed before, but he'd never had to wait almost an hour for help. In the past he had at least had a medical kit nearby.

Some blood was starting to seep through the bandage. He was pretty sure he should do something about that. He felt tired. Maybe after he slept he’d fix it. His arm was throbbing.

“Clint….answer…alright?”

Clint sluggishly opened his eyes at the voice droning in his ear. Steve, right, he’d been talking to Steve about…something.

“Clint you better fucking answer me you son if a bitch!”

That got Clint’s attention.

“Language,” he mumbled.

He heard a relieved and irritated sigh answer him.

“Clint you need to stay awake, medical is almost there.”

He wanted to reply, but his body felt weird and tingly. Before he knew it he felt blackness close in on the edges of his vision as his ears started to ring. If he went to sleep, he wouldn’t feel the searing pain in his arm. He felt his eyes close.

When he woke again his arm was a dull throb and he was in the medical area of the tower. An exhausted Steve was sitting nearby.

“Hey, what happened?” he asked groggily.

Steve looked up with relief.

“You passed out.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Clint replied. “What’s the damage?”

“Mostly superficial. You lost a good amount of blood, they said it was a combination of that and pain that caused you to pass out. I was worried that….”

“I’d gone into hypovolemic shock,” Clint finished.

Clint knew he hadn’t lost enough blood for that. But Steve had no way of knowing that when the comms went silent and he stopped responding.

“I’m sorry man, I tried to stay with it…”

“Clint you don't need to apologize for passing out after being stabbed,” Steve interrupted.

“I’ve been stabbed a lot,” Clint replied with a shrug, then winced.

“Yes, I know,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Next time you go solo, please carry a medical kit.”

“Weighs me down.”

Steve gave him his signature “I’m Captain America and I’m disappointed in you” look.

“Fine,” Clint sighed, “I’ll carry a medical kit with me.”

“And maybe try not to get stabbed so much,” Steve suggested.

Clint flipped him off with his good arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured Steve knew cursing would get Clint's attention and awaken his inner smartass to say "language." 
> 
> Inspiration for this fic- I deal with some chronic stomach issues (nothing too serious and fortunately pretty under control right now) and there's that moment after you've been in pain when you finally get relief from it that is just hard to describe. It's relief, but it's also like you can finally relax and think clearly and breathe. Or maybe it's just me. Anyway, that's where I got the idea for the fic. Plus it's an excuse for Clint Barton whump.


	2. Burnt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HYDRA+flamethrowers=bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are short, but I decided to break it up instead of posting one long thing. 
> 
> Warnings for language and burns.

Clint’s entire body spasmed as he sucked in a deep breath. He looked down at his leg, dreading what he’d see. He expected charred remains. Instead there was a black scorch mark on his pants and some of the fabric had been burned away. The skin he could see underneath was an angry red.

“Fuck,” he hissed. Since when did HYDRA get fucking flamethrowers?

He heard a yell and an explosion then footsteps.

“Clint? I saw you dive under here did you dodge all the fire…oh shit!”

Clint looked up to see Tony duck under the tree he had dove behind. Tony’s mask retracted and he could see the concern in Tony’s eyes even as he tried to joke.

“Decided to have a barbeque?”

Clint snorted. “Still better than your cooking.”

“When you’re rich you don’t have to know how to cook you hire other people to do it,” Tony replied distractedly.

Clint figured he was having FRIDAY analyze his vitals.

“How about we get back to the jet?” Tony suggested.

“Don’t think I can walk,” Clint admitted.

His leg was burning. He was trying to take deep breathes against the searing pain. His muscles were tense and shaky and he knew as soon as he put weight on his leg it’d give out.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry, I won’t carry you out bridal style.”

Clint rolled his eyes despite the pain. He grit his teeth and couldn’t stifle the groan as Tony helped him stand up. Tony put his arm around Clint, taking most of his weight. The pain was so intense that he didn’t even notice the jarring as they walked to the jet. Natasha must have moved it closer. 

He looked and saw a crater near the tree and pieces of metal scattered around.

“Did you...”

“Blow up the flamethrower? Yep,” Tony replied.

“Cool.”

“Don’t tell Steve. He doesn’t like it when I blow people up,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Something about it being a lot of paperwork.”

Clint snorted.

By the time they made it to the jet he was fighting back tears. His leg felt like it was on fire, like all the layers should be melting away down to his bones.

Tony must have filled Bruce in on the situation because he had medical supplies ready. Tony helped Clint over the small medical cot and he laid back shakily.

“Ok, how are you doing, in spite of the obvious,” Bruce asked as he put on a pair of gloves.

“You mean other than the fact that he got set on fire?” Tony said.

“Don’t you have a plane to fly?” Bruce asked.

“Autopilot.”

Bruce ignored Tony and grabbed a pair of scissors and carefully cut away the material around Clint’s pants just under his knee, revealing the burn on his calf.

“Oh shit. That looks…”

“Tony.” Bruce interrupted, glaring at him.

“Right. I’ll fly the plane,” Tony sighed, heading toward the cockpit.

Bruce started grabbing a few nearby supplies.

“It looks like a second-degree burn, which is good as far as severity. But as far as pain, second-degree burns actually tend to hurt more than third, because third-degree burns essentially scorch the nerve endings” Bruce stated.

“Great,” Clint replied dryly.

“I’m not going to do any cleaning since that needs to be done in a sterile environment. But I have some burn medication that Dr. Cho created. It has antibiotic properties and helps with pain. It also starts repairing the skin,” Bruce explained as he grabbed a nearby container.

Clint didn’t give a shit what Bruce put on his leg as long as it stopped the burning. At this point is might be better just to cut the fucking leg off. The pain was so bad Clint was starting to get nauseous.

“Alright, deep breath,” Bruce said.

Clint took a breath and then yelled as the cold cream met his raw skin. He was about to jump off the table when the coolness turned into numbness and the burning finally died down. Instead of searing pain his leg was a manageable dull throb. He sighed in relief as he felt his muscles finally relax.

Bruce finished applying the cream and started cleaning up. Clint relished the feeling of his leg not killing him. As his body relaxed more, he felt his eyes start to drift shut.

“Get some rest,” Bruce said softly as he carefully laid a blanket over him, avoiding his leg.

Clint closed his eyes and finally drifted off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hand-wavey medical science, but if Dr. Cho can invent a machine that prints flesh then she can invent cutting edge burn cream.


	3. Migraine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has a migraine and, as usual refuses to take care of himself. Fortunately, Natasha is there to deal with his stubborn ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Things are crazy, so I hope everyone is doing ok. Stay safe! 
> 
> Warnings for migraines, vomiting (nothing graphic), and needles.

It had started as a headache. Clint figured that the throbbing pain was just a normal headache, one that came from drinking too much caffeine, not getting enough sleep, not eating regularly…pretty much doing all the things he did. But after a while the headache started to get worse and became less of an annoyance and more debilitating.

He had been in a meeting all morning and was having trouble focusing. He figured he could go back to his room and take some Advil or something and try to go about his day. At least his room would be dark, the lights in the meeting room had been too fucking bright. He went to push the button on the elevator and flinched as light flashed in his vision. He blinked a few times and attempted to hit the button again.

“Everything alright?”

Clint jumped at the sudden voice beside him. How the fuck did Natasha get there?

“Yeah, just a headache from the stupid fucking meeting,” Clint muttered.

He hit the button again. Tony needed to back off with his LED lighting. On top of the bright-ass light of the hall, there were now flashes of light messing with his vision. He was understandably worried considering how much he relied on his eyes (the word “eye” was even in his name).

“You do realize you’re hitting the down button, right?” Natasha said.

“Aww, elevator, no.”

Natasha sighed. Clint had been off all day. She had watched him during the meeting and noticed that he kept rubbing his temples and he was having trouble focusing and tracking with his eyes. Now seeing Clint in pain and barely able to see straight she knew what was going on. And having had her share of migraines she knew it was going to get worse. Clint never admitted when he was in pain, so for him to even admit he had a headache she knew it was bad.

“Alright, let’s get upstairs,” Natasha said, hitting the correct button.

Clint had been feeling worse by the minute. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, and he knew there was no hiding it from Natasha. He was starting to feel nauseous and the ache in his head had turned into a throbbing sharp pain. He was having to squint against the light as they stepped onto the elevator.

Natasha hit the number for her floor, keeping an eye on Clint.

He was leaning against the wall, all of his energy focused on not throwing up and/or falling over. He didn’t even notice that Natasha had hit the number for her floor and not his. The movement of the elevator was making him dizzy.

The elevator dinged their arrival and Clint bit back a moan at the ear-splitting sound. The two stepped off.

“This is your floor,” he said after a moment, slightly confused.

He was starting to feel really sick and was breaking out in a cold sweat.

“I know,” Natasha replied with a shrug.

“I need to get to my room,” Clint said, staggering slightly towards the elevator.

“You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” Natasha sighed.

Clint was about to retort that he was fine, he just had a damn headache, when he was hit by a wave of nausea. He felt a cold wave and then panic as he tried not to throw up on the floor. He quickly dove for a nearby trashcan, with Natasha helping to steady him, and vomited. Fortunately, he managed to not miss the trashcan despite the fact he couldn’t really see straight at the moment.

“Come on,” Natasha said gently as she helped him stand up.

“I’m not going to medical.”

“I’m not taking you to medical,” Natasha said, gently tugging him towards the door.

Clint couldn’t hide his groan at the jangling of her keys. It sounded like someone was smashing cymbals right next to his head. And he couldn’t keep his eyes open; it felt like the light was gouging his eyes out.

Natasha opened the door and guided Clint to the couch. She had FRIDAY dim the lights as she grabbed a trashcan and set it on the floor next to the couch.

“Here’s something more comfortable,” Natasha said a few moments later.

She and Clint had clothes in each other’s apartments since there was no telling where they would end up crashing after a mission. Clint realized how out of it he was since he didn’t even notice she had gone to her room and came back with the clothes.

“Thanks,” Clint said, struggling with the buttons on his shirt.

Natasha helped him into the shorts and t-shirt. At this point they had seen each other in various states of undress countless times, between missions and hospital stays, so it wasn’t a big deal. Clint felt so shitty right now he really didn’t care who saw him with his clothes off.

Clint groaned as he felt the nausea hit him again full-force. Natasha laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he threw up into the trashcan. He shakily laid back when the dry heaving stopped.

“I’ll be right back,” Natasha said.

Clint tried not to move. Moving made the searing pain in his head worse, not to mention the dizziness. Even though the lights were dimmed it still felt like someone was shining a spotlight in his eyes.

“Here, this should help,” Natasha said, returning after a couple of minutes.

She laid a cool rag over his eyes and Clint sighed as the rag blocked out the remaining light and cooled him down slightly.

“Thanks. This fucking sucks.”

“I know. I used to get migraines before…It’s been years, but I remember how bad they are,” Natasha said.

Clint knew Natasha had mentioned she used to deal with migraines, among other issues, when she was at the Red Room. Probably from the physical and mental strain she was put through. After she joined SHIELD the headaches had stopped, and it had been years since she had dealt with a migraine.

“I have some medication that’ll help,” Natasha said.

Clint could hear her opening something up.

“I don’t know if I can keep something down right now,” Clint admitted.

As much as he longed for something, anything, to lessen the pain, his stomach was still unsteady.

“It’s injectable.”

“You keep that lying around your apartment?”

Even though he had a cloth over his eyes, Clint would bet money Natasha had rolled her eyes.

“It's in the medical kit that's in every apartment. You'd know if you ever looked in yours."

“Lucky chewed up the latch. I can't get it open,” Clint replied.

"Is your answer seriously 'My dog ate it." 

Clint shrugged. He'd normally have a smartass reply, but it felt like he might actually be dying so he wasn't up to his usual level of bantering. 

“Ok, let's do this," Natasha said. "It’s an autoinjector. I’m going to inject it in the outer part of your thigh.”

Clint nodded, then regretted it as the pain worsened.

He felt Natasha push up the leg of his shorts slightly then a pinch to the outer part of his leg. It was a testament to how much pain he was in that the injection felt like a mosquito bite.

“This should kick in pretty quick,” Natasha said.

She ran a reassuring hand through Clint’s hair.

There were very few people he could trust himself to be this vulnerable around. He had had to tough things out in the past when he was sick or injured, but it was nice to be able to rest and know that someone had his back.

The medication pretty quickly started to kick in and Clint sighed in relief as the pain lessened to a dull ache instead of the searing throbbing it had been. He also noticed the nausea had let up some. He knew Natasha was in a chair next to him.

He felt himself getting drowsy and slowly drifted off, happy not to be in total agony anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been fortunate enough to have never had a migraine, but I know people who deal with chronic migraines so I based it off their experiences. If this isn't entirely accurate that's why. Migraines seem like absolute hell so I'm sorry for anyone that's had to deal with them. 
> 
> [I'm on Tumblr!](https://motherofbeardeddragons.tumblr.com/)


	4. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After recently going undercover at an elementary school Clint is starting to feel sick. Unfortunately, they're in the middle of a mission, so he has to rely on Peter Parker to help him get back to the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing this as a combination of MCU and comic book Clint, so in this he doesn't have a wife and kids. I also write this as the Avengers-era everyone happily lives in the tower scenario so canon, what canon? 
> 
> Warnings for vomiting, needles, and language.

The team recently had to go undercover at an elementary school. It was a pretty interesting mission since most of them had no experience with kids. Thor was surprisingly the best, but that made sense considering he was a giant kid deep down. Bruce and Natasha seemed afraid of hurting the kids, Tony and Steve just didn’t have experience with them, and Clint just thought they were gross.

Somehow they made it through the mission and, hopefully, didn’t scar any of the kids for life. However, after being among the snotty, germy, children Clint had contracted something. At first, he thought it was a cold, which would be irritating, but then it kept getting worse.

He had been dealing with an itchy throat for a couple of days, but Chloraseptic had helped with the symptoms. But now it was beyond just an irritated throat. He was hot, his muscles were killing him, and he was nauseous.

But the worst part was the fact that his throat was on fire and every swallow felt like sandpaper. He hadn’t had much of an appetite and swallowing water hurt, plus he hadn’t been able to get a lot of sleep because of the pain, so he was exhausted and dehydrated on top of everything.

Unfortunately, his symptoms had started getting worse in the middle of a mission. The only good thing was they weren’t too far from the tower. Clint was known for not taking care of his health, but he wasn’t suicidal. He knew if he tried to keep fighting like this, he’d get himself killed. So as much as he hated it, he decided to throw in the towel.

“Steve, it’s Clint. You copy?”

He winced at the strain talking put on his throat. He also knew he sounded awful.

“I copy.”

“I think I need to step out,” Clint reluctantly rasped.

“Location?” Steve asked.

Steve knew Clint was sick, and he had been concerned about him coming on the mission. But he knew he had to trust Clint to make the call about whether or not he could fight.

Clint gave Steve his location then slowly started making his way down the street towards the tower. The fighting had moved several streets over and was about done anyway. Clint hadn’t made it more than a couple of blocks when he heard a sound. Cursing, he drew his bow and spun. He found himself staring at a surprised Peter Parker.

“Sorry, please don’t shoot me. I tried yelling but I don’t think you heard me.”

Clint sighed and lowered his bow, his arm aching. He suddenly staggered, his equilibrium thrown off from turning so quickly.

Peter easily caught him, taking all his weight. Sometimes Clint forgot how damn strong the kid was.

“Oh man, are you ok Mr. Barton? You don’t look good, and I think you have a fever,” Peter rambled.

Clint got his bearings and slowly stood up.

“I’m good now, thanks. What’re you doing over here?”

“Captain Rogers sent me to take you back to the tower,” Peter explained.

Clint groaned. Steve had sent a teenager to babysit him.

“Not that you need help,” Peter added, “he just figured if you weren’t feeling great you might want someone to walk with you and I was there so he just asked me…”

“It’s good. Thanks for coming over here,” Clint interrupted.

He knew Steve and Peter just wanted to help him, and he didn’t want to make the kid feel like he was unwanted or in the way.

“You’re welcome! The tower’s that way. I could swing us there if you wanted.”

Clint cringed at the thought of flying through the air right now. His stomach was already not feeling great.

“I’m good with walking,” he rasped.

He was starting to lose his voice. His throat felt like it was blistered and he winced every time he swallowed. He was thirsty, but dreaded anything touching his throat, even cool water.

Peter rambled the entire way, filling Clint in on the classes he was taking at the local college, how MJ and Ned were doing, and the work he and Tony were doing.

Clint nodded, not able to respond. But he smiled at Peter’s excitement and constant chatter. Peter might be high energy sometimes, but he was genuinely a good and kind person.

“Uhh, Mr. Barton?”

Clint looked over to Peter. His pace had slowed, but he kept pushing knowing they were getting close to the tower. He just wanted to collapse.

“Karen says that your fever has gone up, it’s 102 degrees,” Peter said, concerned.

Clint nodded, the motion making him dizzy. He braced himself on the wall. No wonder he felt so shitty right now. Who knew what kind of crud he had caught from those germy little cretins.

It felt agonizingly slow, and Peter helped to steady him the last few blocks, but they finally made it to the tower. Once in the elevator Clint leaned up against the cool metal.

“FRIDAY take us to medical,” Peter said, looking nervously at Clint.

“I’ll just go back to my room and rest.”

“Steve said you’d say that. He told me to get you to medical by whatever means necessary including webbing you and dragging you there. I’m so sorry, please don’t make me fight you. I know you’re sick, it wouldn’t hurt to get checked out...” Peter nervously rambled.

Clint sighed. He really didn’t want to argue, and he knew Peter could probably overpower him right now. Hell, a Girl Scout could overpower him right now.

“It’s fine.”

Peter let out a sigh of relief.

They made it to the medical area and Bruce was waiting. He had sat this mission out, and Clint knew Steve had called him and filled him in on the situation.

“Hey Doctor Banner! We made it,” Peter stated.

“I see that,” Bruce replied, smiling.

He enjoyed seeing Peter. He didn’t really enjoy having Clint as a patient. As much as he loved him, Clint was a pain in the ass when he was sick. But hopefully he’d behave since Peter was here. Looking at him, Bruce figured he probably felt too miserable to put up a fight.

“I have some clothes here if you want to get changed,” Bruce said, gesturing to the sweatpants and t-shirt on the bed.

“Thanks,” Clint replied.

He closed the curtain and carefully got changed. It was slow going getting out of his suit and into the new clothes, but he managed and collapsed onto the bed.

“You good?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah,” Clint rasped.

His throat was fucking killing him. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was actually bleeding. His muscles hurt and he felt like he had been hit by a truck. On top of it all he was hot.

“Steve told me a little, but what’s going on? It sounds like your throat’s bothering you and I can tell you have a fever,” Bruce said, grabbing some supplies.

Clint was flushed and slightly shaky.

“Throat’s killing me. Tired, dizzy, stomach feels sick. Feel like shit,” Clint whispered.

His voice was going out again.

Bruce nodded.

Bruce grabbed the thermometer and Clint opened his mouth. After a moment Bruce looked at the reading and frowned.

“102.4.”

“It was only 102 earlier,” Peter said from the nearby chair, worried.

Bruce finished taking Clint’s other vitals, glad that they were normal, and grabbed a tongue depressor and flashlight.

“Open up for me,” he asked.

Bruce cringed when he saw Clint’s throat. There was an angry red rash in the back of his throat and his tonsils were covered in a white puss-like substance.

“Ok, I think I know what’s going on, but I just need to do a quick test to confirm,” Bruce stated. He went over to the cabinet to grab supplies.

Clint suppressed a groan. He just wanted to be left alone to curl up and die.

Bruce came back with another tongue depressor and a long cotton swab.

“I just need to do a quick throat culture. All I have to do is brush this a little bit on the back of your throat,” Bruce explained.

Clint knew it was simple. But the thought of anything coming into contact with his ravaged throat filled him with dread. But he had to do it and the sooner they got it done he could rest.

Clint nodded.

Bruce had him open his mouth again, shining the light on his throat. Clint stiffened and suppressed a gag and the swab came into contact with his throat. It felt like it was stabbing into his throat.

Bruce brushed one more time and Clint gagged. Bruce managed to pull the swab out just as Clint gagged and doubled over.

Clint was mortified as he threw up in his lap. Granted, he hadn’t eaten anything for a while so it was really just water and bile, but still. The vomit burned his throat like acid and he felt his eyes prick with tears. Goddammit.

“It’s alright, we’ll get you cleaned up,” Bruce said gently.

He quickly placed the swab in a tube and then grabbed some towels.

“Peter, there are bins in that closet with clothes, there’s one with Clint’s name,” Bruce said, pointing to a nearby storage area.

Peter had been frozen, unsure what to do, and immediately leapt into action.

“I’m guessing you haven’t really been able to eat or drink for a while,” Bruce said.

“Yeah,” Clint sighed.

“You’re probably dehydrated. I’ll give you some fluids and something for the nausea.”

Clint nodded.

Peter came leaping back into the room with a change of clothes, happy to be able to do something to help.

While Bruce went to run the test, Clint went in the bathroom and began the arduous process of getting changed again (with Peter waiting right outside in case he needed help). Fortunately, he managed to get cleaned up and into clean clothes without incident. He slowly made his way back into the room and saw that Peter had put clean sheets on the bed.

Clint collapsed on the bed, totally exhausted and still feeling like shit. He had started dozing off when Bruce returned.

“I got the results. It’s Strep.”

“Strep throat? Don’t little kids usually get that?” Peter asked, slightly confused.

“Those little germy creeps,” Clint muttered.

Bruce sighed. “We went on an undercover mission to an elementary school for a few days. Clint had to have picked it up there. The good news is it’s treatable with antibiotics. And I can give you medication to help with the symptoms, and some fluids.”

A little while later, Bruce had gathered all the supplies to start an IV. Clint hated getting IV’s put in, especially when he was dehydrated, but he trusted Bruce.

Bruce tied a tourniquet around his upper arm and found a good vein. He cleaned the area then grabbed the needle.

“Ok, deep breath.”

Clint took a breath and tried to relax. He flinched at the sharp pinch of the needle then sighed when Bruce taped it into place. At least he hit it on the first try.

“You ok over there?” Bruce asked. He had noticed Peter looked a little pale.

“Yeah, just…not a big fan of needles,” Peter admitted awkwardly.

“Oh, I know,” Bruce replied with a small laugh.

He had treated Peter on a few occasions and knew his aversion to needles.

“I’m good. It’s all good. Are you ok Mr. Barton?” Peter asked.

“I will be,” Clint replied.

Bruce started the fluids and injected anti-nausea and pain medication into the IV as well as the first dose of antibiotics.

Clint sighed after a while when the medication finally started to kick in. His throat still hurt like a bitch, but the pain was dulled. His muscles weren’t hurting quite as bad and Bruce told him his fever had gone down some after checking his temperature again. His stomach had also settled.

He didn’t feel good, but he wasn’t in total agony anymore. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, finally able to get some rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have several friends that are teachers and one of them caught strep throat, finished a round of antibiotics, and then caught it again. So kids really are germy lol. 
> 
> Where I work is closed for at least the next two weeks, so I guess I'll have some free time to write. I hope everyone is doing ok and staying safe out there! 
> 
> Feel free to say hi on [Tumblr](https://geckogirl7.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Stomach Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint experiences stomach pain while on a mission with Matt Murdock and Stephen Strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is medically inaccurate, but for the sake of plot. I decided to substitute magic for actual medical technique to make the story flow smoother (more explanation at the end). 
> 
> Warnings for language.

Clint cursed as he felt the familiar ache in his stomach. He had been having some stomach problems for a while, but figured it was just heartburn or stress or something. He’d been dealing with pain and nausea after eating, and sometimes he’d wake up at night feeling like he was choking. It had been going on a few weeks now. But he usually just took some Tums and kept going, and so far he’d been able to deal. Until today.

He had woken up early that morning with a burning and choking feeling in his throat and chest. It was like he couldn’t breathe. The pain in his stomach had been stabbing and was bad enough to make him slightly dizzy. He had taken a ton of antacids and eventually it had settled down to the point he didn’t feel like he was going to die. He wondered if he was coming down with something.

He hadn’t really had much of an appetite and so he had nibbled on some pop-tarts. He had only managed to drink one cup of coffee, which for him was really unusual. Luckily, the team was busy making preparations for their mission and didn’t notice. 

This was going to be a multi-team effort involving the Avengers, Defenders, and the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj. They would be divided into smaller groups mixed up from the three teams. Clint found out he’d be with Stephen and Matt. He was actually glad, because they were both pretty quiet and calm and Clint didn’t think he could handle high energy today.

The sorcerers would portal them to their designated locations then they’d scout from there. They weren’t sure where exactly the threat was and they didn’t want to lose the element of surprise, so they’d hit all the possible points all at once. Clint was actually kind of hoping that they’d get one of the duds. He really didn’t feel up to fighting today.

He was exhausted from his lack of sleep and hungry from not really being able to eat. Plus, he still had a dull stabbing pain in his stomach, made worse by the little food he had just eaten.

He suited up, slightly in a daze, and met up with everyone in the large training area. Steve briefed them on the plan and then had everyone split up into their teams. Steve reiterated the importance of staying away from the tower until the mission ended since it would be a prime target. He also stated the importance of not drawing attention to themselves. Clint tried his best to pay attention, but he wasn’t feeling it. He just wanted to get the mission over with as quick as possible.

Clint made his way over to where Matt and Stephen were waiting. They were hard to miss considering they both had on bright red. His purple definitely clashed; they really hadn’t taken color schemes into consideration when they were making the teams.

“Well I can’t see,” Matt said with a shrug.

Oh, he must have said all that out loud. Damn, he was tired.

Stephen opened a portal and the three found themselves in an old warehouse who the hell knows where. Clint hadn’t really been paying attention when Steve had been talking about where they’d be stationed.

“Do you hear anything?” Stephen asked.

Matt tilted his head and listened for a few moments.

“No, I think we’re clear,” Matt replied.

“I’m not picking up any traces of magic,” Stephen added.

“Clint?” Matt asked after a long silence.

“What? Oh shit.”

Fuck. He had zoned out. His stomach was really starting to hurt. He didn’t exactly feel nauseous, but the pain was stabbing and he felt like he was choking and his chest was tight. He quickly dug out the infrared glasses that Tony had designed.

“I don’t see anything,” Clint said after looking around a few moments.

Maybe they could leave.

“We should look around.”

Dammit. He’d just have to tough it out. He could handle a stomachache, he’d had worse.

The three split up and Clint made his way over to the corner of the warehouse.

“Does Barton seem off to you?” Stephen asked.

“Yeah, he’s being really quiet,” Matt replied.

“Exactly. No commentary or sarcastic comments. Plus, he’s distracted.”

“His heart rate is up, like he’s in pain,” Matt suggested.

Stephen nodded. “We’ll just need to keep an eye on him.”

The two split up, keeping within range of Clint, and pretty soon they had covered the whole warehouse with no signs of any hostile parties.

Clint cursed. By this point the pain was getting worse. It was like someone had dumped magma into his stomach and was simultaneously stabbing it. He felt dizzy and shaky from the pain and the slight nausea. His heart was racing and he was starting to sweat. He sat down heavily and hoped it would pass.

He was so focused on the pain that he didn’t notice Matt crouch next to him (plus the guy was freakily quiet).

“Clint, what’s going on?”

“It’s my stomach. It’s killing me,” Clint finally admitted.

“Where exactly is the pain?” Stephen asked, walking around the corner.

“Here,” Clint replied, gesturing to the center of his stomach, right above the belly button.

“And what’s the pain like?” Stephen followed up.

Clint tried to explain the weird mixture of burning, stabbing, nauseous agony that he was currently experiencing.

“It doesn’t sound like your appendix or gallbladder. I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on,” Stephen stated.

Stephen just wasn’t sure what the best course of action was. They couldn’t go back to the tower- it wasn’t secure. Rogers had made it clear that the tower was a target and they needed to stay away until the threat was neutralized. Stephen didn’t want to bring Clint into a hospital just in case someone or something followed them and put civilians at risk.

“We can go to the Sanctum,” Stephen finally decided.

“It’s too risky,” Clint replied.

The safest option would be to wait it out where they were. Opening portals could attract unwanted attention.

“I’ll only open the one portal, and the Sanctum is well-protected. Once we get there and stay there we’ll be fine,” Stephen explained.

Before anyone could argue he opened a portal and walked through.

Matt helped Clint stand and took part of his weight. Clint choked and dry-heaved, his throat burning. It almost felt like he needed to throw up, but couldn’t.

Matt and Clint found themselves in a room in the Sanctum. There were a couple of beds and cabinets with medical equipment and herbs. Clint assumed it was some sort of medical area or healing room or whatever.

“I don’t have all the medical equipment here I’d like, and it’s too risky to portal places to get it right now, so we’ll have to make do,” Stephen explained.

Clint gratefully sank into the nearby bed. He knew the Sanctum was safe so he could finally relax and give in to the misery instead of having to fight through it and be on alert.

Stephen grabbed some equipment and took Clint’s vitals. It took longer than he wanted because of the shaking in his hands, but he was glad to see Clint didn’t have a fever and everything was normal. His heart rate was elevated, but that was most likely due to the pain.

“Matt, can you use your senses and let me know what you notice?” Stephen asked.

Matt nodded. He took a seat in a chair next to the bed and tilted his head towards Clint’s abdomen. He stayed like that for about a minute.

“None of his organs sound abnormal, but I’m just going on what I normally hear. His stomach sounds off though,” Matt said.

He had to base everything off of what he heard everyday and the sounds of his own body. He could usually tell when something was wrong because it sounded different. He was used to the sounds of digestion that stomachs made, but Clint’s sounded different in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. It didn’t sound like anything he had heard before.

“The ideal situation would involve imaging, doing an upper endoscopy to see into the stomach. But there’s a spell I can do that allows me to open my third eye and see deeper into things. It should work to let me look deeper and see what’s going on,” Stephen explained, trading places with Matt.

Clint just nodded. It all sounded weird and he really didn’t give a shit as long as they figured out what was going on and made it stop.

Stephen closed his eyes and muttered some incantations. Suddenly a large eye formed on his forehead and opened.

“What the fuck?!” Clint yelled.

“I told you I was using my third eye,” Stephen stated.

“I didn’t think you meant literally.”

“Can I continue?” Stephen said, rolling his eye.

“Whatever.”

Stephen used the spell to look deeper, pulling on his knowledge of anatomy. It dove past the muscles and layers of adipose and around the other organs until he located the stomach. He dove deeper and looked inside and knew his initial guess was right.

He slowly pulled his gaze out and let the spell dissipate. He waited a moment to steady himself before opening his eyes.

“So, the good news is it’s nothing major. You have gastritis, a swelling of the lining of the stomach. And from what I can see and what you've described it sounds like you have a chronic form of acid reflux, gastroesophageal reflux disease,” Stephen explained.

“So it’s treatable,” Matt said.

“Yes. I can give you something to help with the pain. Later we can prescribe a PPI to help with the acid and inflammation and there are some over the counter things you can use. You'll just need to watch what you eat, but it'll all heal up.”

Clint sighed. He was glad none of his organs were about to up and explode like he initially thought. And that all explained why it hurt so goddamn much.

Stephen went over to the cabinets and grabbed various bottles and containers. He mixed things together and brought a cup over to Clint.

“This is a mixture of different medications that will help with the inflammation and acid. It also had lidocaine to help with the pain,” Stephen explained, handing Clint the cup.

Clint took it with shaky hands and drank. It didn’t taste as bad as he thought it might, kind of chalky, but the numbing lidocaine felt weird.

After a minute he almost groaned in relief. The burning and stabbing pain had finally dulled. He no longer felt like his stomach was eating itself. It still felt uncomfortable, but nowhere near as bad as it had been.

He knew he’d have weeks of recovery, but at least they had the problem nailed down and had ways of dealing with it. He felt his body finally begin to relax and his eyes drifted shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on my own experiences of being diagnosed with chronic gastritis, GERD, and a small hiatal hernia. Luckily, it's all pretty manageable and I haven't had such severe symptoms as when I was first diagnosed. Symptoms are different for different people, so it may vary. 
> 
> Like Dr. Strange said, they'd normally diagnose things with an upper endoscopy or some other test, but ain't nobody got time for that. In the movie Doctor Strange is able to illuminate his chest cavity when he's bleeding, so I figured something like that would work here. The third eye is from the comics. 
> 
> Everyone stay safe out there.


	6. The One Time Clint Didn't Get Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint braces himself for injury but then...isn't? A rare occasion when Clint doesn't maim himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No particular warnings for this chapter other than the usual language. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading. This last chapter took me forever to get up, and I apologize. I had to put this story on the back burner since it's been an absolute bitch of a month.

Clint cursed himself for not bringing more trick arrows. He could really use a stun arrow or a net arrow. Hell, he’d even take a putty arrow. All he had right now was normal pointy death-arrows and that was not what he wanted.

The barking grew louder and Clint cursed as he tried to run faster. He loved dogs. He was the guy who would run across the street through traffic to pet a dog. But now dogs were a problem. He was currently being chased by a small pack of big angry dogs.

They had been investigating a spaceship crash when Clint had heard a noise down in the ravine. He had gone to investigate, and now really regretted his life choices. They were in the desert so there weren’t any trees to climb and he didn’t think he’d be able to climb up the steep cliff fast enough. These dogs were fast as shit.

He had thought about trying to incapacitate them, he could always bring them to the vet later. People didn’t realize it was a lot harder to incapacitate someone than it was to kill them. He could try to shoot all of these dogs in the kneecaps, but A. He didn’t want to shoot dogs in the kneecaps and B. Each dog has four legs and he was already outnumbered. If he was going to shoot, it would have to be to kill. And he didn’t think he could do that.

He figured Nat would have heard the commotion. His best choice was to try to fight the dogs off hand to hand until she got there, then she could use her widow bites to stun them. He’d need to protect his face, neck, and hands and hope his body armor did its job.

He took a deep breath and in one swift motion he turned, planting his feet. The dogs were almost there. He could see the white gleam of their teeth. He braced himself for impact, for scratching and biting and probably bleeding… and it didn’t happen.

A bright light flashed in front of him and the dogs collided with some sort of forcefield and were thrown back.

“So…were you just hanging out down here waiting to get mauled? That doesn’t seem like a great plan.”

Carol Danvers landed beside him, glowing faintly. The energy was holding the dogs back and they barked angrily.

“I don’t shoot dogs.”

“Those aren’t dogs.”

“Look, I know you’ve been gone from Earth a while. But those are dogs,” Clint replied.

Carol sent a small wave of energy at the dogs, or not-dogs, pushing them back several feet. Clint was about to tell her to be careful and not destroy the dogs when suddenly there were tentacles. There were tentacles flying out of the dog’s mouth. Clint jumped back despite the forcefield.

“What the hell?!”

Carol smirked. “You ever hear of flerkens?”

“Yeah.”

Everyone knew the rumor, that Fury had lost his eye to a flerken. No one said it to his face though, unless they wanted to die and slow and painful death.

“Yeah, these are like the flerken’s asshole cousins,” Carol explained.

“Well. Shit.”

So Clint hadn’t actually been risking his safety in order to save dogs. He had essentially been standing there to be eaten by aliens.

“Well, they still look like dogs...when they don’t have the tentacles and stuff out,” Clint said.

Even knowing they were aliens, he still didn’t want to shoot them. But he also didn’t want to get sucked in an eaten by alien tentacles.

“Lucky for you, you don’t get mauled today,” Carol replied.

She sent a jolt of energy and the alien-dogs all fell over.

“Shit, did you kill them?”

“No, just knocked them out. They must have escaped off the ship. We can load them up and I’ll take them back where they belong.”

Clint sighed, the adrenaline slowly dying down. He had braced himself to be attacked by dogs and instead had been given a lesson in alien biology. It was nice, but rare, when a mission didn’t end in pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the late update. There's been a lot going on, as I'm sure is true for everyone right now.
> 
> I hope everyone is doing ok and is safe! 
> 
> As far as I know there aren't any dog versions of flerkens, but there definitely should be. 
> 
> Inspiration for this little chapter came from Luke Cage's line "I don't hurt dogs" from Jessica Jones.


End file.
